The Prince's Arranged Marriage-Chapter 99: A Story Told Too Fast

The room stayed quiet in a way that felt intentional.

Not peaceful, managed.

Lucien sat on the narrow bed with his hands folded in his lap, posture straight like he was still in a council chair instead of a windowless room. He’d spent the last hour listening to the guard outside shift his weight, breathe, clear his throat. Little human sounds that reminded Lucien of something important:

Someone was out there.

Someone was watching him.

And somewhere else far beyond these walls Alexander was tearing the kingdom apart, one polite lie at a time.

Lucien didn’t pace. Pacing made you look frantic. Frantic made you easy to label.

So he waited.

When the lock finally clicked, Lucien didn’t flinch. He lifted his eyes calmly as the door opened and the same polite man stepped in clean clothes, steady hands, expression arranged like this was a scheduled appointment.

Behind him came a servant carrying a tray.

Lucien’s stomach tightened automatically.

Food. Water. Comfort.

A pretty ribbon around a trap.

The servant set the tray on the table and left without looking at Lucien’s face.

The door shut again.

The polite man gestured toward the tray. "Eat."

Lucien didn’t move. "You’re confident I’m not being poisoned."

The man’s smile was faint. "If we wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be sitting upright."

Lucien exhaled slowly. "So you want me alive."

"Yes."

Lucien tilted his head. "For what? A ransom?"

The man’s eyes stayed calm. "No."

Lucien leaned back slightly, keeping his voice light. "Then you’re either terrible kidnappers or you’re not kidnapping me at all."

The man took the chair opposite Lucien and folded his hands. "Call it what you want."

Lucien’s smile turned sharp. "Fine. I’ll call it what it is."

He nodded once, as if concluding a thought. "You’re borrowing me."

The man didn’t answer immediately.

Which meant Lucien was close.

Lucien let his gaze flick to the tray. Bread. Fruit. A small bowl of stew. A cup of water.

Simple. Normal. Safe-looking.

A performance.

Lucien picked up the cup and sniffed it lightly, not subtle about it.

The man watched without irritation. "You’re hungry."

Lucien took a careful sip. Water. No bitter aftertaste. No strange scent.

He set it down. "I’m not stupid."

"No," the man agreed. "You’re inconvenient."

Lucien laughed once, softly. "That’s almost a compliment."

The man’s eyes narrowed a fraction. "Eat."

Lucien finally took a piece of bread. Not because he wanted to obey, but because he needed his strength. He chewed slowly, watching the man like a scholar watching a snake.

"You said you prefer me conscious," Lucien said casually, "because it makes things simpler."

The man nodded. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"So explain it simply," Lucien continued. "What do you actually want?"

The man’s tone remained mild. "A statement."

Lucien swallowed his bite. "Still that."

"Yes."

Lucien set the bread down carefully. "You know I won’t."

The man regarded him for a moment. "You might."

Lucien lifted a brow. "Why would I?"

The man leaned back a little. "Because you will be told it’s for the good of Avaloria."

Lucien’s smile turned cold. "Of course. Men do love hiding selfishness behind the kingdom."

The man’s gaze held steady. "The kingdom needs stability."

Lucien’s voice stayed soft. "No. The council needs control."

A pause, tiny, but real.

Lucien continued gently, "You think people will believe I’m ill because you’ll repeat it enough times. You’ll say I’m ’resting.’ You’ll say I’m ’unwell.’ You’ll say I’m ’fragile.’"

The man didn’t deny it.

Lucien breathed in slowly. "And while I’m ’unwell,’ a regency becomes a reasonable conversation."

The man’s mouth tightened. Not anger. Just... impatience.

"Eat," he repeated.

Lucien took another sip of water, buying time. "You’re offering comfort in exchange for compliance."

"Yes."

Lucien nodded once. "So you do need me alive."

The man’s eyes flickered barely.

Lucien leaned forward slightly. "You don’t want blood. You want legitimacy."

The man watched him in silence.

Lucien smiled, warm and dangerous. "That’s why this room is clean. That’s why you brought food. That’s why you drugged me instead of beating me."

The man’s voice stayed calm. "You speak as if you understand our intentions."

Lucien’s smile didn’t waver. "I understand enough."

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment.

He placed it on the table between them.

Lucien didn’t touch it.

The man tapped it once with a finger. "Read."

Lucien’s eyes scanned the first line without moving his hands.

To the people of Avaloria,

His stomach turned.

It was written in careful language. Concern. Duty. Rest. Temporary withdrawal from public responsibilities. Gratitude for support.

And then the line that mattered most:

I ask the council to provide steady guidance to the throne during this brief period.

Lucien’s fingers tightened in his lap.

He looked up slowly. "This isn’t my voice."

The man’s expression remained bland. "It will be, once you sign it."

Lucien let out a quiet breath. "You wrote this before you took me."

The man didn’t deny it.

Lucien laughed, soft and humorless. "So the story existed before I disappeared."

"Yes," the man said plainly.

Lucien stared at him, then looked back at the parchment. He imagined the city reading it. The market whispers turning into nods. The council smiling behind closed doors like they’d just won a clean little victory.

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

He reached forward not to sign but to fold the parchment in half and slide it back toward the man.

"No," Lucien said simply.

The man watched him. "You haven’t even asked what happens if you refuse."

Lucien smiled, gentle as a blade. "I don’t need to."

A quiet silence settled.

The man rose and walked to the wash basin. He poured water into it, then set down a small bundle of fresh cloth and soap.

"A bath," the man said, like he was granting a favor. "Clean yourself. We will keep you comfortable."

Lucien blinked slowly. "Comfortable prisoner."

The man’s gaze sharpened. "Not prisoner. Guest."

Lucien snorted. "Guests can leave."

The man’s smile returned, polite as ever. "Not today."

Lucien’s fingers curled. "How long?"

The man didn’t answer. Instead he moved to the door and knocked once. A guard opened it a fraction.

The man spoke quietly. "Bring the physician."

Lucien’s stomach tightened. "Physician?"

The man looked back at him. "We are going to take care of you."

Lucien stared. "So you can say you did."

The man’s eyes cooled. "So you remain presentable."

There it was again presentable.

Lucien felt cold settle into his chest. This wasn’t about his health. This was about optics. About keeping him neat enough to parade if necessary, convincing enough to claim illness, intact enough to be used as proof that everything was "civil."

Lucien leaned back, expression calm even as his heart pounded.

"You’re planning to show me," Lucien said.

The man’s brow lifted slightly.

Lucien’s voice stayed quiet. "Not now. Not yet. But when it suits you."

The man didn’t deny it.

Lucien’s mouth curved faintly. "And when you do, I’ll speak."

The man’s expression sharpened. "You will say what you are told."

Lucien smiled softly. "We’ll see."

The door opened again and a physician stepped in older, nervous, carrying a small bag. He bowed quickly without meeting Lucien’s eyes.

Lucien’s stomach twisted. He’s terrified.

The physician approached, voice trembling slightly. "Your Highness, I’m only here to ensure you’re well."

Lucien looked him over carefully. "Are you independent?"

The physician flinched, eyes flicking to the polite man.

Lucien’s mouth tightened. "I see."

The polite man spoke mildly. "He is here to treat you. Nothing more."

Lucien held the physician’s gaze anyway. "Did someone tell you what to say?"

The physician swallowed hard. "Your Highness, please..."

Lucien softened his voice—gentle, almost kind. "I won’t harm you. I just want to know whether you are here as a healer or as a witness."

The physician’s hands shook. "I... I am here as a healer."

Lucien nodded slowly. "Then heal."

The physician checked Lucien’s pulse, his eyes darting away whenever Lucien looked at him. He asked simple questions had Lucien eaten, had he slept, was he nauseated.

Lucien answered honestly. "You drugged me," he told the polite man casually. "It’s still in my blood."

The polite man didn’t deny it. "It will wear off."

Lucien’s gaze sharpened. "What was it?"

"A precaution," the man replied.

Lucien laughed softly. "That’s not an answer."

"No," the man agreed. "But it’s all you get."

The physician finished and bowed again. "He will recover fully," he said quickly. "He only needs rest."

Lucien’s lips pressed together.

Rest. Illness. Withdrawal.

The script was already being practiced.

The physician left.

The polite man collected the parchment again and tucked it into his coat as if it was simply a document waiting for a signature.

Then he paused at the door, looking back at Lucien.

"You are loved," the man said, voice quiet but strange almost thoughtful. "That is why this must be done carefully."

Lucien’s throat tightened.

He kept his expression calm. "You mean that’s why you can’t kill me."

The man’s smile faded. "Correct."

Lucien leaned forward slightly. "And Alexander?"

The man’s eyes cooled. "He is a problem."

Lucien’s voice dropped, deadly soft. "No. He is your ending."

The man held his gaze for a long moment, then opened the door.

Before leaving, he said, "You will be returned."

Lucien went still.

The man’s next words landed like chains made of silk.

"Once you cooperate."

The door shut.

Lucien sat alone again.

He stared at the wash basin, the fresh cloth, the neat little comforts placed like bait. Then he looked at the empty table where the statement had been.

His hands trembled once, just once before he forced them still.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

And in his mind, he replayed Alexander’s touch from the night before, the way Alexander held him like the world could not take him.

Lucien swallowed the ache and let it turn into something harder.

If they want a story, I’ll give them one.

Just not the one they wrote.